The End of the Beginning
by StopHammertime
Summary: Wilhelmina Fuchs had a pretty good routine. Wake up, get the girls some breakfast, make sure Dad wasn't too hung-over for morning appointments, go to school, work at the clinic, practice her forms, go to bed. But what happens when that routine gets totally derailed by the Undead? Can she protect her sisters and stop the zombies from taking her only family left?


**A/N: **Alrighty, folks! Let's get this show on the road. The OCs have been chosen, the plot's bare bones have been laid, and I'm ready to fuck some shit up!

...well, I might have gotten a bit overenthusiastic just now. Anyway, here's the first chapter of _The End of the Beginning_, featuring my OC, Wilhelmina Fuchs, and a wonderful character known as Rodolfo Villalobos from the lovely mind of _HaveBookWillTravel_, an author with some lovely Percy Jackson fanfics, if anyone's interested.

**Disclaimer:** We stand in awe before that which we do not own. I stand in awe of _High School of the Dead_ (which I don't own), as well as any OCs I've chosen to use (whom I also don't own; they're owned by their respective creators).

**Warnings:** As you might have guessed from a zombie story, there will be blood, gore, and violence. I also tend to slip in language deemed inappropriate for young children, so that's always fun. There will also be some drug use/abuse throughout, including underage drinking. Thou hast been verily warned.

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End of the Beginning**

* * *

For Wilhelmina Fuchs, the end began just like any other day. After waking up in the wee hours of the morning, Will turned the heater on and got breakfast started while making sure to put everyone's clothes in the dryer to warm them up. After all, every ounce of heat counted in the early months of winter in the American Midwest. Next, she clanged into her twelve-year-old twin sisters' room with a cast-iron pot and a wooden spoon; trying to wake them up with anything less would only result in failure. Once she was sure that Kathrin and Klarusia were fully awake and getting ready, Will cautiously knocked on her father's door with a steaming mug of honey-sweetened green tea, and entered when she heard a feeble groan to find Adolphus Fuchs' bleary mint-colored eye regard her tiredly.

"Morning, Dad," Will said softly, moving aside several empty liquor bottles from the bedside table to set the tea down and helped her father into a sitting position. "First appointment's at nine, so you've got three hours to get ready. Breakfast is all done whenever you're set to eat, and here's some tea."

Wincing as he rubbed the bridge of his nose to stave off the binge-induced headache, Adolphus reached blindly for the mug, and Will pressed it into his hand. After taking a deep, probably painful pull of the sweetened drink, he seemed to come to his senses with a sigh. "Thank you, sweetheart," he mumbled, gracing her with a smile which reminded Will of better times. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

Uncomfortable, Will waved his comment away. "Don't worry about it, Dad. I'll put some coffee on and get the clinic warmed up." And without waiting for her father's reply, she made a quick egress from the shadowy room.

After making sure Katie and Klare were at the table, sleepily shoveling eggs and bacon into their mouths, Will pulled a sweater emblazoned with the Faribault High School Falcon logo over her head, slipped on some boots, and went out into the snowy back yard. The frozen rain which must have fallen during the night blanketed the mostly-empty space beautifully, but as soon as Will fell slowly, easily, into her forms, her quick movements kicked up the snow, creating footprint patterns in the otherwise pristine white cloak.

It had been a long time since the high-school senior had been a child; even before the tragic event which had snatched her mother away, Will had always been serious and quiet for her age. When her twin sisters had been born, her father had tried to impress upon her the importance of an elder sibling's responsibilities to protect the young ones, and she had taken that advice to heart. As soon as her mother had recovered from the birth, Will had been signed up for martial arts classes. The instructors had been astonished by the drive and determination the child possessed, and in just three years received a black belt in the Tae Soo Do discipline.

As she flowed from one form into the next seamlessly, Will's blank mind brought up memories of that day, the shining pride that shone from the faces of her mother and father, and the awed looks on her baby sisters' faces during the demonstration of her skills. After mastering the Way of the Warrior Spirit, she graduated into its elder discipline, Hwa Rang Do, the Way of the Flowering Knight (the name of which was one of the main reasons she based her choice in martial arts on initially).

It had been in the early days of learning her new art when her world had fallen apart. Less than a week after her ninth birthday, when she and her mother had been walking home from a hard day of practice, they had been held at gunpoint by four thugs demanding her mom's purse and everything inside. Will, confident in her ability to thwart the would-be robbers, had instantly gone on the attack, and had even caught two of them off-guard long enough to land crippling blows to their...ah...manhood.

Unfortunately, three enemies had still remained, and the one holding the gun had been just a little too nervous, or trigger-happy, and had fired off a single shot before he and his companions had fled into the night. And for just a moment, as she hit the ground with jarring impact, Will had thought she'd been hit. Then, when she realized that the weight on her chest was her mother, and the warmth pooling beneath her was liquid and red, she was able to comprehend that her mother, Batilde Fuchs, had taken the bullet meant for Will and had died in an alley on a Wednesday evening.

Stumbling slightly on the dismount of a flying spin-kick, Will paused in the middle of a fourth-dan form, feeling exhaustion burning her muscles and the sweat dripping from her trembling limbs. Checking her watch, she grimaced and headed inside to take a shower and get ready for school.

As she let the warm water wash away the signs of exertion, Will let out a sigh as she relived the years following her mother's death. She knew it was her fault, that Batilde would never grace her daughters with that warm smile or embrace her husband lovingly ever again. If she'd only been faster, stronger, those punk bastards wouldn't have even gotten the opportunity to raise that gun, let alone fire a lethal bullet into her mother's chest. And while he would never say it aloud, Will knew that Adolphus blamed her for his wife's demise, could see it in his haunted eyes as he slipped slowly into a deep, alcoholic depression.

And all the while, Will trained, growing more and more skilled as she pushed, _demanded_ more from her body so that no one would ever be able to take someone precious from her again. When she'd gained the Hwa Rang Do black belt, only her sisters had been there to cheer her on while their father slept off another binge. It got so bad that, shortly after rising to the fifth degree of mastery in her art, Adolphus finally told her how close they were to losing not just the clinic, but their home as well.

Thus had been the end of Will's formal training; instead, she focused on keeping the clinic afloat, making sure her dad was up and sober enough to treat his patients while simultaneously keeping the house respectably clean and her sisters staying up to date in their academics. Sure, Will's own grades suffered because of it, but what import were grades when real life was breaking down the door?

After drying off and dressing for school, Will stepped into the living room and found Katie and Klare waiting for her, and Adolphus bustling around the kitchen, looking much more alert as he fixed himself a cup of the sweet nectar known as coffee.

And that was when the patient came in.

* * *

Rodolfo Villalobos awoke with a start, gasping for breath and sweating despite the chilly winter morning. His eyes danced around wildly, searching for any threats and, finding none, closed with a relieved sigh.

"I hate that dream," he said to the empty room, throwing off his covers and picking his way across the floor strewn with tools and books to the bathroom. Stripping, he quickly jumped under the steaming stream of water and shuddered pleasurably as the heat drove away the cold and washed off the sweat which had accumulated during his dream.

Or, rather, his nightmare. It was always the same, full of fire and feminine screams and sheer, undiluted terror. Taking a fortifying breath as he squeezed body wash onto his sponge, Rudy began singing _Here Comes the Sun_ by the Beatles in an effort to chase away his macabre morning mood. It helped that he didn't have to stifle his voice since he lived alone in the tiny apartment; he could sing as loud as he wanted and the only rebuke he'd receive would be from Ms. Sanders in the neighboring apartment. And really, who the hell cared what _she_ thought?

He sometimes wished for the simplicity of his life before, as a young runaway who answered to none save his belly and his brain, when there was no worrying about which utilities he could live without for a month and how much instant noodle packages he'd need in order to tide him over until the next paycheck came in. Hell, he'd managed to stay alive for close to a decade using only a combination of panhandling, thievery, and his own wits and instinct. Fortunately, his mom had managed to drill an intimate understanding of auto mechanics into him before she'd-

Rudy's voice caught halfway through the third verse, and he cleared his throat roughly. Well, he knew cars, and that was the point. It was sheer luck that the last foster family he'd lived with before he'd come of age was headed by a mechanic with his own garage, and who was kind enough to offer Rudy a job when he was still technically a junior in high school despite being two years older than most of his peers.

At that thought, he grimaced distastefully. One thing he'd definitely not missed during his eight-year journey from Houston to Faribault was _school_. After the current semester was through, Rudy was planning on taking the GED test and dropping out to work full-time as a mechanic. Anything was better than having to listen to some old crone blabbering about how some dead guy got his undies in a bunch and declared war on some other dead guy.

Regardless, he still had to take his lumps with the rest of 'em, and if he had to deal with idiots who worried more about what they wore than people freezing to death two blocks from their house, then so be it.

After whipping up a hot bowl of oatmeal and scarfing it down quickly, Rudy grabbed his schoolbag, pulled on his favorite hat (gray, white, and shaped like a wolf's head with long 'arms' to cover his ears, and pockets to warm his hands in), and stepped out into the cold to his pick-up truck.

On the outside, it didn't seem like much, with a rust-bitten body and paint so faded it could have been any color. Inside wasn't much better; it was full-size cab, so most of the back seat and much of the front were filled with water bottles, tools, books, and spare clothes. The inner workings, however, were a different story entirely. While he didn't like to brag, Rudy's former foster father and current employer did most of that for him. Anyone with an ear to lend would hear about what a genius Rudy was with mechanics, and it showed in his car. Anyone looking at the old junker would say it was on its last legs as a functioning vehicle, but in reality it was both incredibly efficient and deceptively fast. Really, the only thing wrong with the truck was the chassis, and even a bit of welding had fixed up most of the problems.

Smiling, Rudy gave the hood a fond pat before getting in and starting it up, flicking the defroster to get rid of the fog clinging to the inside of the windshield. Once the glass was clear and the cab flooded with warmth, Rudy flipped on the radio.

"...headed down the 35 Freeway _en masse_," a frantic reporter was saying. "If they can be stopped on the bridge over Wells Lake, then..."

"Whatever," Rudy muttered, changing it to a different station. He made a quick turn to take a shortcut so he wouldn't be _too_ late and had to slam on the brakes to avoid running over the prone form on the street.

Rudy got out of his car and went to check on the man, who was lying face-down in the snow. "Hey, buddy, are you alright?" he asked, nudging the poor guy's shoulder. When his only response was a faint, pained groan, Rudy flipped the man over, being careful not to exacerbate any hidden wounds. The man was obviously homeless; having lived as one for years, Rudy could pick out the signs easily.

"H-help," the man managed to grunt, and Rudy noticed a large, dark spot on his shirt where he was holding a hand to his gut. His eyes darted around unseeingly, and a quick check confirmed that the guy was obviously feverish, possibly hypothermic. Knowing there was a small clinic nearby, having gone there a few times himself, Rudy hefted the man's painfully light frame up and into the passenger seat of his truck and headed there.

"Don't worry, fella, I got you covered," Rudy told the man as he grabbed various articles of clothing and blankets, knowing fully well that his passenger probably couldn't hear or comprehend his words. That didn't matter to Rudy, though. He kept up a constant stream of reassuring babble as he layered fabric over his body to insulate the guy, thinking back to an old man who'd done the same for him many years ago.

It had been about a week after his escape from the foster home he'd been placed in after the auto shop his mother worked in had burned to the ground with her inside. Life on the streets had been much more difficult than Rudy had anticipated, and he'd been on the verge of starvation and hypothermia when a man he knew only as Joe had helped the young runaway back to health, and after hearing the boy's sad tale, decided to take him under his wing, showing Rudy tricks and skills necessary to living independently on the unforgiving underbelly of society.

Glancing in his rear-view mirror, he could make out the shape of a guitar case half-hidden beneath a pile of jackets and blankets and a melancholy smile tugged at his lips. Joe had made most of his money panhandling with his Fender CD-100-12 Dreadnought 12-string acoustic guitar, and had taught Rudy everything he'd known about the instrument. And when Joe had passed on from a combination of old age and living the life of a destitute hobo, it was all Joe had to leave to his young ward, and was sometimes the only thing that could cheer Rudy up when he was in one of his moods.

Soon enough, the truck pulled to a stop in front of a modest two-story home, and Rudy rushed around to haul/drag the man up the steps and knock on the door.

* * *

Will opened the door and found what appeared to be a middle-aged man looking very much the worse for wear being supported by a younger man with a concerned look in his pale gray eyes. Without waiting for the young guy's explanation, Will turned and began barking orders to her sisters to prep a room for the older man while prompting her dad to look sharp.

Adolphus took the sick fellow off the younger guy's hands, allowing Will to recognize him as Rodolfo Villalobos, fractured index finger eight weeks ago and mild case of influenza about twelve days ago. While her father and sisters were busy, Will led Rudy into their living room, which doubled as the clinic waiting room, and began the questions.

"Who is the man?" she asked first. Best to know the patient's name, at least.

"I dunno," Rudy replied, running a hand through his dark brown mop of hair as he pulled the wolf-cap off his head. "Found him laying face-down in the middle of the road. He's a bum, and he's got some sort of wound on his abdomen; that's all I know for sure."

Will paused, then asked, "How do you know he's a...street person?"

Rudy snorted. " 'Street person,' that's a nice euphemism," he muttered. "I know one of my own, even if I haven't been a hobo for a year and a half. Malnourishment, lack of personal hygiene, the beard, and he's got newspaper stuffed up his sleeves and in his shirt. He's either homeless or an exceptionally well-informed poser, and I'm pretty sure it's not the latter."

"Wilhelmina," her father said, entering the room with a grim face and blood spattering his surgical apron. "There's no identification on the poor fellow, but there are several bite wounds on his abdomen, and he's showing signs of hypothermia." In her peripheral vision, Will saw Rudy nod to himself with a scowl, as if his own diagnosis had been confirmed. "We can maybe stitch him up and give him something to keep him warm, but without any ID or insurance-"

"I'll pay," Rudy piped up, looking resigned. "Get him fixed, make sure the hypothermia's behind him, and I'll take it from there, but I'll pay for treatment, if that's what you're worried about."

Adolphus gave Rudy a searching look, and Will knew why; the last two times Rudy had been a patient here, he'd only just managed to afford the bill, meager as it was. Hell, the influenza case had only been exacerbated by the fact that Rudy hadn't had any heat in his apartment at the time, and here he was, offering to use money he probably couldn't afford to waste in order to help a homeless man he'd found on the street.

Finally, her father nodded. "I'll make sure he's well taken care of," he said, and Rudy nodded.

"Good. I'll just, uh, go grab a book to read while I wait," he said. "Guess I get a day off school for my troubles." That reminded Will to call her school and the twins' school in order to excuse them for at least the morning classes.

Once she was finished with that, she went to check on her dad, who had managed to stabilize the patient and was in the process of sterilizing the bite wounds while Katie and Klare fetched a suture kit. With everything all set, Will decided to check up on Rudy. When she found that he wasn't in the waiting room, she checked outside and saw him sitting in his beat-up truck...was he smoking?

Rudy sighed as he exhaled his lungful of smoke, tapping out a random rhythm on the three-foot bong he'd fashioned out of a steel pipe. When life got him down, a good bowl of weed always had the desired effect of bolstering his ability to deal with whatever problem he faced, such as how he'd be able to stretch out the meager food supply he had for the next few months or so in order to pay his rescuee's medical bill. His thoughts strayed to the half-dozen plants he had growing in his closet using the hydroponic set-up he'd patched together. It wasn't perfect, but he'd learned long ago that if all else failed, the sale of marijuana would yield enough money to get him through the worst of it, and he could always ask for extra hours at the shop.

With his path figured out, Rudy took another hit, listening as the water inside burbled lazily as the smoke passed through it on its way into his lungs. Which he nearly coughed up in surprise when he heard a knock on the passenger window. After sputtering for close to a minute straight, Rudy managed to unlock the door and clear his windpipe.

Will hopped in, pushing the blankets he'd used to cover the hobo toward the middle of the bench seat and leaned into the heater's vent. She was definitely pretty, by anyone's standards; her hair was darker than a moonless night, and those sharp eyes were greener than an emerald. Of course, she was also about as approachable as an angry porcupine, and just about as friendly, too. "Dad's got your friend stable," she said after a moment. "Once he's stitched up, we'll give him a mask for humidified oxygen and put him on a warm saline drip to warm up his blood." A smile made its way to her face, and she turned to him. "You did a good job, taking care of him."

Rudy nodded, relieved. "I've had some experience with hypothermia. I know how to keep them alive until proper medical folks can get to 'em, but that's about it." He shrugged. "It's a damn good thing I was late to school; if I didn't take that shortcut, that poor dude'd probably be breathing his last right about now."

"You seem different, you know," was Will's response, and Rudy raised an eyebrow at the non sequitur. "From the other times you've been here, I mean, and at school, too. The last time, anything out of your mouth was either a stupid joke at your own expense or a complaint about how terrible you felt. And when Dad fixed up your finger, all you had were incredibly lame puns." She stopped, seeming to consider her words. "Today? No jokes, no complaining, no retarded wordplay...just concern for that guy you've never met in your life."

Rudy shrugged, taking another rip from his homemade bong. He blew the smoke from his nose as he leaned back into the seat, then said, "I was a runaway, did you know that? It's why I'm still a junior despite being eighteen."

"Some of the others just think you were held back twice," Will said uncomfortably. From her sheepish look, Rudy could tell that she'd thought the same thing.

He chuckled, causing her to raise an eyebrow of her own. "It's not like I care...my point is, I know what it's like to be like that guy, so I try to help out where I can. It's a lot simpler out on the streets, but there's also a lot more danger. A fella could use all the assistance he can get, and if I have to panhandle with Calli back there to pay for it...well, I've done it before."

"Who's Calli?" Will asked, perplexed, and Rudy used his lighter to tap the guitar case.

"That's Calliope to you," Rudy admonished with a grin. "I didn't name her, if that's what you're thinking. I sort of inherited her a while back, and she's gotten me through some pretty heavy dry spells, where food's concerned."

"It's a nice name for a guitar," Will murmured.

"Why?" Rudy asked. "I never really bothered to look up what it means, thought it was just some random name Joe came up with."

"Calliope was the Greek Muse of epic poetry," Will replied. "It means 'beautiful voice,' roughly translated. I'm pretty sure it's also the name of another instrument, but I think it fits better with the guitar. I always pegged you for a more mechanical kind of guy," she added, nudging a stray Allen wrench with her foot.

"Yeah, well, what's a musical instrument but a machine that makes music?" Rudy shot back with a grin. "Plus, it keeps my fingers limber and nimble for other, more delicate pursuits." When he caught sight of Will's offended expression, he burst into laughter. "What are _you _thinking about? I'm talking about handling wing-nuts and screws in tight places."

"Look," Will bit out, face flushing angrily. "Just air out and come inside so we can hash out the details."

Before Rudy even had time to snort at her expense, a bloodcurdling scream tore through the still, cold air. They locked eyes, then turned toward Will's house, where the horrible noise had come from.

With a terrified, "_Katie!_" Will was off like a shot, and Rudy followed right after her, forgetting that he had a bong still firmly in his grip. Will left him in the proverbial dust, and he mused that maybe it was time to start working out. That thought flew out of his mind the second he caught up with her, to be replaced by the sound of grinding gears as he tried to comprehend the scene before him.

The twin girls, Katie and Klare, were backed up against the waiting room wall, Will was standing rooted the spot just a foot in front of them, and at the entrance to the room in which their father had been working on the hobo was...

Rudy almost looked away, almost decided that it wasn't his problem. But it _was_ his problem. The homeless man, eyes blank and much paler than anything he'd ever seen, was crouched over the body of Adolphus Fuchs, dipping clawed hands into the gaping hole in the doctor's chest while a pool of blood inched slowly across the floor, and raised a handful of innards to his mouth.

One of the twins (Katie, if he was right in thinking she and Will had the same hair), whimpered pitifully, and the bum's face, which was a mess of blood and gore, swiveled toward her direction. He let out a guttural noise halfway between a growl and a moan as he staggered to his feet, looking unsteady. His ruined shirt was opened to reveal half-stitched wounds oozing liquid that couldn't be blood. It had the same general color and consistency of mud, a stark contrast to Adolphus' life as it dribbled across the wooden panels.

Colorless eyes focused on Will, who was still rooted to the spot, gazing at her father's lifeless body with a heartbreaking expression twisting her pretty face. The hobo began to make his way toward her, and she made no move to stop him, even as a blood-stained hand raised to grab at her.

Rudy moved even before he really registered moving. It was one of the many reasons he wasn't just some picture on a milk carton, his reflexes honed through years of being chased across half the country by police and other hungry street-folk. The heavy metal base of his bong smashed into the side of the bum's head, sending him crashing into and over a recliner. As water poured out of the open stem, Rudy grabbed Will's arm and pushed her toward her sisters.

Will stumbled, but caught herself before she accidentally rammed into Klare (the fair-haired one) and seemed to come back to reality. Rudy saw her eyes dart to the mess that was her father's remains, then away just as quickly, and gave a short nod to Rudy in thanks.

A grunt drew their attention to the overturned chair, where the hobo was slowly regaining his feet. Rudy almost lost his oatmeal when the bum's head turned to reveal his thoroughly trashed jaw, hanging by a bit of gristle and meat from where he'd struck. By all rights, that guy should be at least knocked out, if not outright dead. But he wasn't bleeding. Well, he _was_ bleeding, but it was that muddy, gelatinous substance instead of true, ruby blood.

"_Ay güey_," he whispered. "What in the hell-?"

An angry screech ripped from Will's throat as she lunged at the...thing, driving her booted foot into his chest with so much force it actually caved in. Rudy could hear a chorus of cracks as his ribs snapped from the pressure Will had placed on the sternum. More of the muddy gel gushed from points where the bone shards ripped through the hobo's grayish skin, but when he made to get back up again, Rudy realized that something was _definitely _wrong.

Before the hobo could rise once more, Rudy jumped over the chair and brought his bong down on the man's already battered head. He could feel with sickening clarity the cranium cracking and turning into bits of bony shrapnel as he drove the metal down into his brain. The man's limbs stiffened, then went limp as the control center of the body sent out one last garbled signal.

For a moment, he stood there over the corpse, bong hanging loosely in his grasp, with gray-matter and muddy blood dropping off the rounded base slowly, feeling sick to the stomach. Then, his innards convulsed, and his impromptu weapon slipped from his hand as he rushed to the door. He made it outside just in time, and his meager breakfast found itself steaming in the snow while he gasped for breath, leaning on his knees to stay on his feet.

When he felt his stomach was as stable as it would get, Rudy straightened up, mind racing. It was impossible, completely outlandish...and yet, the body was in there, plain as day. The roads had been eerily empty, now that he thought about it, and what had been that radio report he'd heard earlier, as he'd been headed to school?

He needed to get back to Adolphus' body.

* * *

"Will." She felt a nudge on her shoulder and turned to see Rudy standing at her side, looking white-faced. Will herself had retreated into the twins' room, holding onto their shaking bodies and offering what little comfort she could. As soon as Rudy had left, Katie had fallen totally silent, while Klare had simply put her head in her hands and began to sob. Personally, Will felt like doing the same, but she had to be strong for her sisters. She was all they had left, now that...

Cutting her thoughts off at that, Will turned to Rudy. "Yeah?"

"We need to talk," replied Rudy, looking as serious as his face would probably ever get. His eyes swept over the twins, then to the window, and finally to their chest of drawers before pushing it in front of the glass. Will shot him a perplexed look, but he jerked his chin to the door, and she reluctantly nodded.

"I'll be right back, guys," Will muttered, giving Katie and Klare a quick squeeze before following Rudy out of the room. When they were back in the living room, Will noticed that both...bodies were gone, and she whirled on Rudy. "What's going on?"

Wordlessly, Rudy waved his hand at the television, which was turned to the news, but with the volume so low it could have been muted. Will had to lean in to hear what the reporter was saying, though the screen was showing much more than she needed to see.

"...here with the National Guard at the Wells Bridge, on the Interstate 35, where the brass hopes to stop the horde before it can spread further south," the news reporter said with a professional demeanor, although there was a hint of panic glinting in her eyes. In the background, army grunts were running around erecting barricades, hauling munitions boxes, and various other tasks double-time. "If you are just joining us here, there has been an outbreak of what scientists have dubbed the Solana virus in the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul early this morning, with reports of similar outbreaks in major cities across the world. It is unknown whether or not terrorist activity is behind this, only that the results have proven devastating. The virus is confirmed to spread only through bodily fluids, such as blood, mucous, and saliva, and once contracted, will cause an intense fever in patients followed by death, and has proven to be fatal in one hundred percent of the cases reported."

Here, the reporter's face grew grim. "The worst, however, is once the infected patient succumbs to the fever, the virus reanimates their corpse somehow, turning its victim into a..." she paused, lowering her mic and muttering something to a person off-camera, then lifted it back up, looking like someone was squeezing a lemon at the back of her throat. "The most accurate description of a reanimated victim is 'zombie.' It sounds absurd, I know, but this virus turns any cadaver afflicted with it into a mindless creature whose only purpose is to spread the virus further, meaning that they will attack and kill any living creature it can get its teeth into. Please, be advised to stay inside your homes, preferably barricading the doors and windows with heavy furniture while the National Guard controls this-"

One of the grunts behind her suddenly dropped the ruck sack he was hauling in favor of grabbing at the rifle strapped to his shoulder. "They're comin'!" he shouted, firing off several rounds at something unseen. The other uniforms around him all stopped what they were doing, grabbed their weapons, and followed their comrade's lead.

Unable to watch any more, Will turned the television off. She felt disconnected, as though this were all some movie, or a video game. A muffled _thwmp_ made her turn as Rudy fell onto the couch as if his knees had given out on him. His face was decidedly blank, but his gray eyes were most definitely _not_, darting around at something unseen. Before she'd died, Will's mother used to get that same look whenever she was puzzling out a particularly complicated problem.

Then a thought occurred to Will. "Where is my father?" she asked softly, and the blank mask dropped slightly, revealing a face full of guilt. "Rudy, where's my dad?"

"He's out back, maybe three feet under," was the slightly shell-shocked reply. "I'm sorry I couldn't dig deeper, but I needed to cover the windows, too."

"We were just attacked by a zombie, weren't we?" Rudy only nodded, jaw muscles jumping like he was chewing hard gum. "Did you...did you nullify my dad?" Another nod, this time accompanied by an almost pitying flick of his eyes. "We need to get out of here, don't we?" A pause, then a firm downward jerk of his chin. "Okay, then, help me pack."

* * *

**After-Action Report: **Okay, so I'm sorry for how long it took me to get this out, even after I'd gotten together all of the OCs necessary, but I've got a lot on my plate. I won't bore you with the details, but the update rate of this fic will probably be every two weeks or so, give or take a day.

The main group will be a Five-Man Band of sorts, meaning a group consisting of The Leader, The Lancer, The Smart Guy, The Big Guy, and The Chick. There will also be two extra members, The Sixth Ranger, and the Loveable Rogue. I'm using the first four chapters to introduce them all in sets of two, while the fourth one will introduce the Rogue as well as join them all together. And if you're wondering where I'm getting all these capitalized phrases, check out TV Tropes. It's only the greatest website online if you're an aspiring writer.

Now for my unashamed begging. This is my first story. Period. I'm not sure if I'm doing this thing right or if I'm just crashing and burning before I even take off. Please, if you find anything wrong with my story, or if you have any insightful advice, or if you just want to talk shit about the crappy ramblings of an idiot, please drop a review. I need to know how well I'm flying by the seat of my pants here.

Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you all have a wonderful day. See you in about two weeks!

**Random Trivia: **Will's full name is Wilhelmina Aimer Fuchs. Her first name means 'Protector', her middle name means 'Leader', and her last name means 'Fox'. Her name fits her well; for much of her life, she studied martial arts for the sole purpose of protecting her little sisters, and she is a natural born leader with a cunning mind.

Rudy's full name is Rodolfo Villalobos. His first name means 'Famous Wolf' and his last name means 'Village of Wolves'. While he isn't very famous, he has very wolf-like tendencies. His intense hatred (bordering on fear) of being alone stems from a sort of pack mentality, and he is a true survivor by nature.

Katie's full name is Kathrin Martina Fuchs. Her first name means 'Pure', her middle name means 'From Mars (Roman God of War', and her last name means 'Fox'.

Klare's full name is Klarusia Maria Fuchs. Her first name means 'Clear; Bright', her middle name means 'Bitter', and her last name means 'Fox'.


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